Then Kate kissed Trixy, and told her that she was the dearest little thing that ever was born, and the information seemed to do the child a lot of good. Afterward it occurred to Kate that the man who had been the principal subject of her thoughts during the day was getting very little of her attention, and as the Admiral insisted upon departing, and Harry and Fenie had eyes only for each other, and Trif seemed entirely happy with no one to talk to, the meal passed delightfully although slowly to its close. When general conversation chanced again to begin, Fenie remarked: "It does seem that none of us can have any more misunderstandings. There never would have been any but for Trixy, but she certainly can do no harm in the future." "Trixy certainly has learned her lesson," said Trif. "Papa says that some folks never get through with their lessons till they die," observed Trixy, while all the rest looked serious. CHAPTER XX. A BLISSFUL WEEK. The Highwoods and Trewmans started for New York a few hours after the lunch-party ended, and Jermyn accompanied them. He had wanted to do so, from the first, but found many difficulties in the way of saying so; for when women are intent upon a journey they find so much to do and talk about that a man, no matter how dear he may be to any member of the party, learns to his mortification that there are times when man is utterly uninteresting to woman. Jermyn finally found himself so manifestly in the way that he begged Trixy, whose dolls were packed within ten minutes of the first announcement of the impending departure, to go upon the verandah with him and take a long look seaward. A friend of his had been promising to sail a yacht down from New York, and the verandah was as good as any place in the fort from which to view the offing. Besides, the Lieutenant did not care to be seen again at his quarters. He feared that a secret which several of his comrades shared with him might not be as safe as it should be, and he was in no humor to be joked about the most serious interest of his life. In the angle of the verandah they sat, Jermyn and Trixy, the child looking seaward through her mother's opera-glass, and the officer looking into the sky, his thoughts that afternoon having a somewhat heavenly tinge. "Oh, I believe there's the yacht--way out there! Don't you see it?" "Where? What?" asked Jermyn, dreamily. "Why, the yacht, of course. Don't you see that great big boat with lots of sails! That's the way yachts are, ain't it?" "I suppose so." "You don't look as I feel when folks is comin' to see me; though, to be sure, they don't come in yachts." "I beg your pardon, Trixy. I fear I was thinking about something else." "Say!" remarked Trixy, suddenly dropping the glass. "Do you know what I wish? I wish you was goin' to New York with us." "Trixy," said Jermyn earnestly, "so do I." "Well, why don't you?" "Hem! I suppose it is because I haven't been asked."